


In Questo Paradiso ne Scopra il Nuovo Dì

by Sherwhotreksings



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst!, F/F, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Wives, Literally the angstiest thing I've ever written, Smut, tw blood, tw death, tw illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:27:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23633971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherwhotreksings/pseuds/Sherwhotreksings
Summary: Paris. 1851. She’s not sure if she’s real or imaginary, the girl sitting on a chair across from her bed. She sees her though: dark hair, golden brown eyes, dressed in white, Azira’s sister. She can’t be sure anything is real at this point. The only thing she knows for sure is that she’s home now and she’s dying.~This is just La Traviata but with the wives. I'm sorry.Antonia is a Parisian courtesan caught up in the intricacies of French society until a young madame, Azira, disrupts her whole world.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I 100% blame miss-minnelli for this fic existing. Darn you and your opera loving ways. That being said, I couldn't have done it without you <3 I also want to thank my beta Serpentlyetorc for putting up with me and my nonsense.

It’s her first party in a while. It’s been too long for someone like her when parties are her livelihood. After all, how else will she meet new clients? Courtesans don’t just stand on the street corners in Paris and beg. She’s more sophisticated than that. 

Her chandeliers sparkle in the light of the party and the gas lights cast intricate shadows on the walls and guests below. A couple of her guests sit on the piano bench, playing a song together as the small quartet she hired takes a break. Someone hits a wrong note and they both stop to giggle before continuing. Antonia is passed from hand to hand as her guests beg for a moment of her time. She swirls around the party, ball gown feeling as though it’s squishing her. Her dress feels too tight like she can’t quite get a deep enough breath, even though she knows everything she’s wearing is the same as always.

She tried to put on the kind of party that she had before she contracted her illness. The kind that goes and goes until it’s morning. The kind that no one ever wants to end. She used to be able to go all night without even realizing any time had passed, but it seems her stamina has faded in the month she was gone. She’ll need to work on building it back up if she intends on throwing and attending these types of parties again. Still, something feels off. Though she’s since recovered, she knows the underlying cause is more severe.

Antonia manages to break away from the crowd, standing to the side in a private moment. She gasps for breath, trying to push down the increasing panic. She pulls at the front of her gold dress, shimmying to try and shift her corset into a more comfortable place. Her full skirts make a pleasant _swish swish_ as she moves, which she focuses on to try and calm herself. 

A guest pulls her from her thoughts with a hand on her shoulder, begging to introduce her to someone. “Antonia, this is Madame Azira Donadieu.” 

A heavier woman stands a short distance away with her back to them. She’s dressed in a tan suit with a bright blue jacket. Her blonde hair is cut short, but just long enough that curls form and cling to the back of her head even though her hair is slicked back. Madame Donadieu turns, smiles, and takes Antonia’s hand in hers and places a kiss gently on the back. “Please, call me Azira, Antonia.”

Antonia nervously shoots a glance to her escort for the night, Baronne Beelze, who is watching the pair closely, eyebrow raised and obviously displeased over the informality of a stranger addressing Antonia without an honorific. 

Flora, Antonia’s friend, places a hand on Antonia’s arm and says teasingly, “I’ve heard Azira is madly in love with you.” 

Antonia can’t help but let out a laugh at that. The absurdity of someone actually loving her is too much to contain. Everyone knows she doesn’t believe in silly things like love. Besides, rumors start and spread quickly in this section of Paris. By the time a rumor makes a full circle suddenly the Baronne has purchased an elephant and Flora has given away all her money to Archduke of Austria. There’s no truth in any of it. 

“But it’s true.” Azira is as serious as can be, face intensely set on Antonia. “I am in love with you, Antonia.” 

Flora squeezes her arm, lowering her voice to whisper, “When you were ill she came to ask about you every day.” 

“Don’t say that!” Antonia hisses at Flora. The action causes her to cough a little, but before she can catch her breath, the musicians return, and she’s pulled back into the action of the party. 

She’s spinning both literally and figuratively across the room. Partner after partner twirls her around the dance floor in a maddening waltz. She can barely think straight between suffocating in her dress and trying to catch another glance of Azira while dancing. 

She can’t quite wrap her head around what Azira said. She seemed so convinced of her love for Antonia. It’s foolish to fall head over heels so completely. And without even meeting her first! Still, something sticks in the back of her mind. A small bit of hope that hasn’t yet been extinguished. She shoves it away. Like the snake of Eden tempted Eve with the apple, she mustn’t fall for the same trick herself. She’s learned from Eve’s mistake. 

She ends up falling into a chair next to the Baronne and Azira while trying to gain back her balance, legs shaking from exhaustion. She waves off the concern of her guests who have gathered around her. Both the Baronne and Azira have their handkerchiefs extended toward her. She takes Azira’s, fingers brushing, and dabs lightly at her chest and face. 

“A toast! Antonia, a toast is just what we need for the night!” Flora cheers from the sidelines, oblivious to her out of breath friend. 

Antonia shakes her head, unable to get out any words, and gestures to the Baronne. The Baronne in turn gestures to Azira. Great, just the person she’d want to make a toast at her first party back in society. 

Azira thinks for a moment and then holds up her glass. “To the night and to... pleasure!” She casts her eyes to Antonia in a way that conveys that’s not exactly what she means or what she wants to say.

Antonia supposes it’s the best Azira can do to express her affection in present company. The indignity of it all fills her with emotions she hasn’t felt before. It fills her lungs better than any breath and enters her veins with a fire. How dare this woman enter her own home and proclaim her love without any thought to Antonia herself. 

Before she can stop herself, she’s pushing herself up from the chair, raising her own glass while purposely avoiding Azira’s eyes, and shouting a response of, “To friends!” She continues with, “Love is a short bliss,” meeting Azira’s eyes to emphasize “short” and holding them there, “it’s a flower that blossoms, dies, and is gone forever.” She lets her gaze wander. “Let’s celebrate this moment while it lasts!” 

The crowd cheers their agreement, urging Antonia for more. And she obliges though her lungs are burning.

“We live for pleasure and pleasure will sustain us all!” She lifts her glass higher, champagne sloshing out at the apex. 

Azira raises an eyebrow, a challenge. “Unless you live for love.” 

Antonia steps closer to Azira, face set in a stony mask. “I never have and I never will,” she says this to Azira alone, letting out the last of her air in a delicate tinkle of a laugh.

Azira creeps closer, not breaking eye contact. “But love is my destiny which will make me immortal, not pleasure alone.” 

The pair are standing close together, so close that Antonia can feel Azira’s breath on her face. It sends a tingle down her spine and she wishes to live in this moment longer, but her lungs are screaming for air. She manages to take a breath but it is immediately coughed back out into her borrowed handkerchief. She wobbles on her feet but stays upright this time. Motioning with her hands, she encourages everyone to continue partying for a while longer while she excuses herself.

With a smile that doesn’t quite make it to her eyes, she makes her way to her bedroom. 

Antonia holds up the mirror resting on her boudoir, gripping the worn wood for stability. “I’m so pale!” she gasps, which prompts another coughing fit. 

Antonia catches a glimpse of red on the handkerchief but before she can fully process it she hears a voice behind her. 

“You know living like this will kill you. You should take better care of yourself.”

She slams the mirror down and rushes to stuff the handkerchief in her bodice before turning around.

Azira passes through the threshold into her room. “If you were mine, I'd watch over you.” 

Azira is too close. 

Too close. 

So she does the only thing she can think of to protect herself. She laughs. Even if it does make her lungs burn again. “No one has ever watched over me, and no one has to,” she almost spits the words out of her mouth. She turns, back to Azira, and goes to her open window, feigning interest in the curtain there.

“Because no one has ever loved you before.”

The words hang thick and heavy in the summer between them. Externally she’s composed, she’s skilled enough to not reveal any secrets, but internally she recoils. Azira had hit far too close to home with that one. The July breeze caresses her face and she can feel her cheeks pinken from the heat. At least that’s what she’d say if anyone asked her.

On her own in France, she did what she had to do to survive. She made her way to Paris and made herself invaluable. Her lifestyle allows her to support herself, and have all the pleasures she’d like. But it’s isolating too. 

Antonia glances over her shoulder, alarmed that Azira is impossibly close. “I forgot you’re supposed to be madly in love with me,” she mocks. She whirls around dramatically, skirts blooming around her, and she steps back as far as she can, bumping into her bed.

“You laugh. Don’t you have a heart?” Azira asks, gaining ground.

Antonia calms and considers what Azira is truly asking her. “Perhaps.” 

“Let me tell you how I love you.” Azira steps ever closer, reaching out to take one of Antonia’s hands. “I first saw you a year and a half ago during Carnival. You were backlit in a window, this window, wearing an elaborate gold mask and I was below in the streets. Your beautiful rousse[1] hair was curled and half up. That’s not the moment I fell in love with you though. Somebody must’ve complimented you because you smiled, and I could see it in your eyes. I’d never been more jealous in my entire life.” 

Merde[2]. Antonia feels her heart skip a beat. She’s used to being lusted after. She has all the lust in the world and she doesn’t need anymore. But this feels different. Azira claims to have known from the first moment how much she loves her, has pined silently for so long, waiting for the right moment to say something. And none of her clients had even bothered to check up on her, nor would she expect them to. But then, how does she know Azira isn’t only after her for her beauty or money; for the chance to say she bed a courtesan without payment? 

“You are my heartbeat. My world! The heartbeat of the universe.” Azira brushes the back of her hand with her thumb and then lifts it to her lips.

Antonia has to give it to Azira for being persistent, but it doesn’t change how Antonia feels. All this talk of love is silly and childish. She’s not the naive little girl she once was. It seems Azira still is, though. And yet… here she is… claiming Antonia is her whole world in her own bedroom, and Antonia can’t help but remember that distinctive feeling. It’s a ghost of a memory now.

Antonia shakes her head, casting her eyes to the open window once again. “Then leave now because I can offer you only friendship.” Her life isn’t meant for love and romance. She’s meant for amusement. She’s meant to be used and thrown back into the world time and again. “Please, forget all about me. Find another girl who will love you.”

She looks back, shocked to see Azira’s lips are a whisper away. Their eyes lock and she can feel one of Azira’s legs pressed between hers, even through the layers of her skirt fabric. Her head is spinning again but from more than just champagne and air loss. Antonia closes her eyes against the penetrating stare of Azira’s blue ones and-

“And what are you doing in here?” A tipsy party guest interrupts them with a laugh.

Antonia pushes Azira away from her with a shove to her shoulders and takes the handkerchief out of her bodice, dabbing at her lips and cheeks as she flounces to the middle of the room. “Amusing ourselves.” 

The party guest gives her a knowing smile and backs up, “I’ll give you some privacy.” 

She doesn’t fault the guest for assuming Azira paid her for her time. It’s her job after all. However, she has no intention of denying the claim and setting them straight. For all she knows Azira might just enjoy the thrill of teasing and triumph before becoming a patron. 

“Stop talking about love now, only pleasure.” Antonia addresses Azira but speaks to the doorway. Opening the handkerchief, she examines the droplet of blood more thoroughly. “What do you want from me?”

“Then I will leave now because what you’re asking is impossible.” Azira moves away from the bedside but stops in the doorway.

“Wait!” Antonia feels like rushing. As if rushing is the only thing in the world that could save her right now. Rushing to her destiny. Rushing to her death… Yet, she remains poised as she goes to her dresser and picks up a camellia, giving it to Azira. “You can come back when it’s faded.” 

Azira takes it, fingers brushing again and sending another tingle down her spine. “Tomorrow?” 

Hope flutters in her chest, bursting out in the form of a smile and she presses her forehead to Azira’s. It would be so easy to just put her lips…

She can hear a ruckus from the other room as her guests call her name. Leaving Azira, she puts her mask back on and saunters into the receiving room, looking at the grandfather clock nestled in the corner. It’s far past decent hours. Her guests swarm her as they say goodnight, pulling her from person to person until everyone has been thanked and she’s been propositioned by several men. She’s unsteady on her feet, and on the verge of another coughing fit, but she has to check on the Baronne and make sure everyone has left before giving in to it. Azira must’ve snuck out sometime in the rush because the Baronne is the only one left.

She wobbles and almost falls, but manages to stay true, making it to the Baronne.

“Are you satisfied Baronne Beelze?” Antonia questions with the tiniest of curtseys, the edge of her breathlessness coming through.

“That’ll be all for tonight, Antonia. Thank you for your time.” The Baronne kisses her hand goodnight and passes without another word through the doorway and onto the early Paris street. 

Antonia coughs into her handkerchief, grabbing onto the nearest chair for support before flopping down onto it, allowing her muscles to relax as she takes in measured breaths. After a beat, she balls up the handkerchief, stained with small red flecks, and tucks it back into her bodice. Standing shakily she tidies some of the things around the room. Her guests aren’t messy, but some furniture has been moved out of place and the piano cover needs to be lowered. Marceline, her maid, will pick up the glasses tomorrow. 

She wasn’t always like this, disillusioned by love. When she was younger, she was as Azira is now, full of hope and eager for what awaited her. It changed once she was on her own. It was clear she’d never be more than her beauty. So she threw herself into it. If it was her choice then it shouldn’t hurt… right? 

Yet, she still can’t get Azira out of her head. How can she ignore this chance given the empty life she leads? What if she’s the person her soul once imagined, painted before her eyes in vivid color, alive and animated with air in her lungs and blood in her veins. Does this woman, one she’s known for only a moment, contain the power to start a new fever in her?

Antonia looks around the room once more, surrounded by the discarded remnants of the party. She shouldn’t be so harsh on her life. She has it good here. She has all the money she could ask for and countless gifts from her paramours. She can party whenever she wants without worry of what the outside world thinks. 

She picks up the half empty champagne bottle and pours herself another glass, laughing merrily as she considers her life and the constant pleasure it produces. She downs the champagne in one go. 

This woman says she loves her. She knows what she does and loves her anyway. She wants to protect her and save her from herself.

“Madness!” Antonia whirls around and slams the empty glass against the wall. 

This is only the sad illusion of an abandoned woman in Paris. She shouldn’t hope for anything, especially something like this, something so easily ripped away, something so fragile. She needs to be free to glide along her path and give thought only to her clients and their needs. Besides, she’ll die of pleasure before she’ll leave this whirlwind life. 

_You are my heartbeat. My world! The heartbeat of the universe._

She lets out a growl of a scream and races to her bed, tearing the covers from it. She’ll never be free. If only things had gone differently. If only she hadn’t become this- this- femme déchue[3]. 

_You are my heartbeat. My world! The heartbeat of the universe._

She throws the pillows from the bed. Repeating to herself that she’ll die of pleasure first. She lets out another scream, grasping at the sheets, balling them in her fists. 

_You are my heartbeat. My world! The heartbeat of the universe._

She’ll die before she gets to leave her hell. 

She falls to her knees sobbing, lungs burning, and still clutching the sheets.

* * *

[1] Red in conjunction with hair, ginger

[2] Shit

[3] Literally “fallen woman,” a whore


	2. Scene 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely meant for this to be a short scene outside of what the opera shows, but it turned into 2000 words of smut... so... enjoy?

Azira is charming and sweet and everything Antonia didn’t know she dreamed of. They’ve met every day this week… and the previous, and on and off for the last month. Which is why when Azira leans in she can’t help but kiss her. The smell of her cologne is intoxicating and winds its way through her senses. It fills her lungs and replaces the oxygen there. Somehow she’s able to breathe better this way. Azira’s hands find their way to her hips, steadying her body.

Thankful for the privacy of her sitting room, she pulls herself off of Azira, flustered by her own forwardness. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” Antonia dabs at her chest and face with her handkerchief. 

Hands falling to her sides, Azira steps back from Antonia, giving her space. “I don’t mind. I was quite overcome, myself.” A light blush spreads across Azira’s face and she hooks a finger in her collar, giving it a tug. 

Antonia reddens in response. Everything in her body is urging her forward to Azira’s lips though she knows it’s a terrible idea. Forward to Azira’s hips. Forward to her bedroom. Forward to her future. Forward to her fate.

Antonia gives in.

She reaches towards Azira, grabbing her lapels and pulling her in. Azira kisses her back, but whether from the shock at her sudden movement or impropriety, she keeps her hands planted firmly on Antonia’s hips. 

Antonia breaks the kiss, bringing her lips up to Azira’s ear to whisper, “It’s alright, ma cherie[1].” She takes Azira’s hand and slides it up, leaving it on her ribcage, hoping to relieve some of the ever mounting tension. She returns her lips to Azira’s and can feel Azira relax into her. 

Azira’s hands glide across her body, pressure strong enough to be felt through the fabric of her dress and stiff corset. As Antonia deepens the kiss, Azira’s fingers skim across her shoulder, tracing the line of her collarbone with her thumb. Antonia’s never been more grateful for the current evening gown trend of a low cut neckline and off the shoulder sleeves. Each stroke of Azira’s thumb is like a bolt of lightning to her heart. The electrical current races through her body and settles deep in her core. 

She lets her teeth scrape of Azira’s bottom lip, enjoying the little jolt in reaction. Her heart sinks as Azira stops kissing her. Was that the wrong thing to do? But Azira wraps her arms around Antonia and pulls her even closer, leaning down to kiss and suck her way across the line she was tracing with her thumb. Her heart picks back up again as she decides it wasn’t. 

Antonia lets out a sigh of delight, hands moving down to grip Azira’s forearms, grounding her to the moment. Her fingernails dig into her skin, urging Azira on. Azira nips the spot she was previously kissing and Antonia jumps, squirming in her arms. 

“That’s visible.” Antonia cranes her neck to see if there’s any early indication a mark is going to form. It’s not proper of her to go to work bearing the markings of another lover, much less be in society with such a clear indication of last night’s activities. 

Azira nods an affirmation, lust making her eyes glow. If Antonia was with anyone else she would worry whether Azira actually intends on following directions, but she knows Azira won’t do anything Antonia doesn’t want her to. Antonia shakes off the thought that Azira might be the only person she’s ever trusted her entire self to. That’s too strong a thought for her to handle right now. Instead she guides her mind back to the way Azira is kissing across Antonia’s skin. 

Antonia moans and tips her head to the side to give Azira easier access. Azira responds with a moan of her own and tries to press her hips into Antonia’s, but is foiled by her dress. The damned thing doesn’t offer either of them any relief. Azira, breathing heavily, manages to pull herself off Antonia, and gives them both time to catch their breath.

Chest heaving, Antonia reaches behind her back to unhook the clasps that keep her dress on. Once she’s undone enough of them that it could slip over her petticoats and corset, she holds the neckline up, hands pressed flat to her chest, not quite ready to let it go.

“Antonia,” Azira says, almost like a warning, somewhere in the back of her throat.

She doesn’t have to say the words for Antonia to know what she means. If she does this, if they do this, there’s no going back. She wants that more than anything, but what waits on the other side is what scares her. How can she go back to her life as a courtesan after? Sure she lives for pleasure, but at the expense of what? Always pleasing others, never pleasing herself. Letting everyone take and take and take as she gives and gives and gives. It’s unpleasant to say the least, but bearable when shoved down. Merde. Antonia didn’t even know there was anything better out there for her until she met Azira. 

Antonia lets her dress fall. It slips slowly down, pooling at her feet in a puddle of swirling, glittering purple. Azira’s eyes soften as she takes her in. Antonia wiggles out of her petticoats, letting them join the large pile on the ground. She’ll regret the wrinkled mess in the morning, but there’s no time for decorum. 

Azira hasn’t moved a muscle. It feels like it’s been minutes that Antonia has been standing almost bare in front of her. Her expression is so all consuming and tender that even in her chemise, corset, stockings, and heeled boots Antonia feels naked. She’s not used to having someone adore her. Antonia blushes and holds her upper arm, blocking her very present breasts from view. 

“Mon amour[2], look at you!” Azira takes Antonia’s hand from her arm. “You’re beautiful.” 

Antonia blinks back tears. Azira sounds so sincere, like Antonia is the first girl who’s ever taken her breath away. Azira slips off her suit jacket and unbuttons her vest, letting both of them join Antonia’s dress on the floor. As she works on untying her silk scarf from around her neck, Antonia moves to unbutton Azira’s pants, heart racing. She stops, though, as she realizes she can’t remove Azira’s pants until her shoes come off. 

Antonia lets out a short giggle which stops Azira’s movements long enough to question her. 

“Our shoes.” Antonia laughs again. “We’re still wearing our shoes.” 

“I can fix that.” Azira kicks off her shoes and socks as fast as she can and guides Antonia to the sofa, nimble fingers making quick work of her shoes. 

Azira pushes Antonia’s chemise up, hands skimming her calves and the top of her thighs. She lets her hands linger on Antonia’s inner thigh, fingers kneading the soft skin. Antonia closes her eyes against the sensation, hoping to remain on earth as Azira slides each of her stockings off, kissing her way down her calves. As soon as they’re off, Azira stands up, and Antonia pulls Azira’s previously unbuttoned pants off with her undergarments in one motion. Antonia brushes some of her disheveled hair out of her face and slides to her knees at Azira’s feet.

Her face is inches away from Azira’s lovely golden curls. She runs her fingers through them and slips one finger between her lips, gauging her wetness. Antonia is excited to see that Azira is already slick enough to slip a finger inside. Azira moans loudly and her knees buckle just a little, hand gripping Antonia’s shoulder hard. With a little prompting, Antonia gets her to spread her legs a little more and adjusts herself to fit better between them.

Azira blinks back to reality as Antonia removes her finger from her warm center. “Antonia, mon amour, no.” She stops Antonia, mouth centimeters from where she wants most to be. Azira steps back and caresses Antonia’s cheek. “Not like this.” 

Antonia swallows thickly, already trembling. Azira leans down and scoops Antonia into her arms, carrying her to Antonia’s bedroom, remembering the way from their introduction night. The door swings open with a quiet squeak and Azira places her down gently. It’s all so real. Standing there in front of her bed, clothes half off, Azira’s blouse hanging delicately above her round bottom, Antonia can’t help but feel all the emotions she’s been pushing down for the last fifteen years. 

Azira turns back to Antonia, a shy smile playing across Azira’s lips. She reaches up and brushes a fallen piece of hair out of Antonia’s eyes. Antonia can’t stand it. She has to do something, anything, other than stand here with Azira looking at her _like that._ So she kisses her again, hands skimming the edge of her blouse, only breaking the kiss to lift it over her head. She runs her hands up Azira’s sides, coming to rest on her full breasts, sending little shocks straight to her core. She parts her lips, sliding her tongue into Azira’s mouth as Azira reaches around, fingers tugging at the laces of her corset. The corset falls away and Antonia’s breasts bounce lightly as they return to their normal position under the chemise. Azira quickly strips her of her chemise as well, tossing it to the floor with their other clothes. Antonia pushes them backwards towards the bed, falling on top of Azira as they tumble to the mattress. 

Azira, unsatisfied with their current arrangement, growls and flips Antonia onto her back. “Tonight you’re mine.” 

Antonia is familiar with this sort of statement. In fact she hears it rather often from her more possessive clients, usually followed by them using her as they like. However, she’s not used to what Azira does next. Azira shimmies down her body, sucking a nipple into her mouth and lavishing it with attention, and then placing gentle kisses down her stomach on her way. She settles herself between Antonia’s thighs and spreads her wide with her fingers. Antonia can feel how wet she is already by the slick Azira is spreading to her inner thighs. 

Azira licks a feather light strip up Antonia’s entrance ending with a little circle around her clit. Antonia’s hands fly to Azira’s hair, finding purchase in her slicked back curls. It doesn’t take too many moments for Antonia to come from Azira’s attentive licking and sucking. Pleasure explodes behind her eyes, traveling to her heart and lungs. It knocks all the air out of her with a drawn out moan and gasp. 

“Azira-” Antonia tries to speak, but is promptly silenced by a finger sliding into her core. The rest of her sentence turns into something sounding similar to _nyygnk._ After a few moments of the gentle pumps from Azira’s finger, Antonia is able to compose herself enough to try again. “Azira, you don’t have to do this. Let me serve you.” 

Azira speeds up her motions, finger curling into the perfect spot. “I want to take care of you, mon amour. You’re so gorgeous, you deserve all the praise in the world.”

Antonia throws the arm not buried in Azira’s hair over her eyes. Never has that crossed her mind before, that someone might want to cherish her. 

“I want to kneel at your feet for the rest of eternity.” 

Antonia arches her back, thrusting her hips down hard onto Azira’s hand as Azira pushes a second finger inside her, moan ripping out of her throat. 

Azira moans in response, pupils blown wide. “I want to make sure… make sure you know… how much you mean to me. Just say the word… and I’d do it.” Her words come out staggered as she focuses on keeping up her pace. 

Antonia cries out, tugging hard at Azira’s hair as she comes for Azira a second time. She feels like she’s floating high above her body as pleasure spasms and courses through her. Tears roll down her cheek as she sobs silently into her arm, overwhelmed by the stimulation and the absolute tenderness from Azira. Azira’s thrusts slow to a stop, and as she removes her fingers Antonia feels distinctly empty. 

Azira stretches out alongside Antonia, wiping her fingers on her own thigh and stomach before peeling Antonia’s arm off her face. She brushes Antonia’s tears off, quietly whispering soft assurances in her ear. After a light tug, Azira gets Antonia to fold into her arms. 

Antonia’s mind feels empty as well. All thoughts are banished to another realm, as she comes down from her endorphin high. She feels safe in Azira’s arms and soon the gentle smoothing of her hair and Azira’s soft skin lulls her to sleep.

* * *

[1] A gentle term of endearment, “my dear”

[2] The most romantic term of endearment, “my love”


	3. Letters 1

August 30th, 1853

Madame Antonia Crowley,

I understand your desire to leave your current life. 

Your labyrinth of pleasure would, understandably, 

be exhausting for anyone, much less someone in 

your condition. It would be my pleasure to assist you 

in your escape to the country. Although I will be honest 

when I say I am disappointed you are leaving me. 

After careful thought, I will concede to loaning you 

the money you desire, but as we discussed, you must 

fulfill my favor first. I will request payment in full 

as soon as you are on your feet in the country. 

Chaleureusement[1],

Baronne Beelze Brun

~

September 29th, 1853

Baronne Beelze Brun,

I am finding it increasingly difficult to obtain money

in order to pay you back. I assumed I would be able 

to find employment, but there seems to be little need 

of my skills or desire to hire a retired courtesan. 

It seems gossip travels quickly in the country. 

I thank you for your continued understanding of 

my situation. 

Cordialement[2],

Madame Antonia Crowley

~

October 7th, 1853

Madame Antonia Crowley,

It seems gossip travels slower in Paris as it has 

only now come to my attention that you have 

run off to the country with Madame Azira Donadieu. 

As you actually have twice the chance for income 

as you do on your own, I’ve elected to charge 

you interest, starting a week from when you first 

borrowed. 

Cordialement,

Baronne Beelze Brun

~

October 16th, 1853

Baronne Beelze Brun,

I am sorry I misled you when requesting my loan. 

You must understand my hesitance to tell you 

the full situation. After all, I know how fond you are 

of me and did not want to change your opinion of me. 

You can trust me to get you your money back. 

Enclosed, you will find a payment of good faith 

as a promise of a speedy repayment. 

Cordialement, 

Madame Antonia Crowley

~

October 29th, 1853

Madame,

It has been two months since you made use of 

my assets and I am growing increasingly more 

impatient as the days pass. I am formally 

requesting that you pay me the total sum of your 

loan by the end of the month of November or I will 

be turning your debt over to the collector. 

I would be willing to discuss other options with you 

if need be.

Baronne Beelze Brun

~

November 4th, 1853

Baronne Beelze Brun,

I beg of you, please give me more time. 

My debt is secure and I have devised a plan 

to return your money to you. I only need 

to find a buyer for my items in Paris and the 

money will be yours.

Cordialement, 

Madame Antonia Crowley

~

November 7th, 1853

Antonia, 

Let me make this simpler for you. 

We will call our debt even. There is no 

reason you have to sell your things in Paris. 

My condition is that you leave 

Madame Donadieu and come back to Paris 

with me. I can give you a better life than she. 

You will be well taken care of and you can 

go back to your work as a courtesan. 

I await your response.

Meilleures salutations[3],

Baronne Beelze Brun

~

November 9th, 1853

Baronne Beelze Brun,

Thank you for your very generous offer, 

but I must decline. Madame Donadieu 

and I are very happy in the country. 

I will get your money with included interest 

to you on time.

Madame Antonia Crowley

* * *

[1] “With warm regards”

[2] “Cordially”

[3] “My best regards”


	4. Chapter 2

Antonia is dozing in Azira’s arms, and it’s everything she’s ever wanted. She fades in and out of consciousness, comforted by the feeling of Azira’s fingers tangled in her hair and the stroke of her hand on her neck. She can tell Azira is speaking to her, but just quiet enough that she has to really concentrate in order to hear. It’s probably just idle talking, but Antonia listens anyway, eyes closed and breaths as even as possible so she doesn’t give herself away. 

“This is my Eden. You are my paradise, Antonia.” Azira plants a gentle kiss on the top of her head. 

Antonia’s heart constricts in fear. They’re thousands of francs in debt. It took so much to get away from her past life and their luxurious countryside estate isn’t cheap. She couldn’t deny Azira when she promised her she’d make sure she had the finest things. But, she has a plan to fix it all. If she sells everything from her past life, her evening clothes, furniture, Paris estate, she’ll have just enough to pay off their debt and keep their countryside home for a few months more. She can discuss with Azira what to do after the debt is gone. 

Antonia stretches and yawns feigning her normal behavior after waking up from a nap. 

“Mon Amour,” Antonia starts, “I have to speak with Marceline, but I’ll be back soon.” She heads off towards the kitchen in search of her maid. 

“Marceline! Are we settled with our arrangement? It seems things are more urgent than I thought originally. The Baronne is getting impatient.”

Marceline picks up letters from the nearby table and holds them out to Antonia. “We’ve gotten a few inquiries. It’s not what you were hoping for, but sufficient enough.” 

“Then please, go to Paris quickly.” 

Antonia shuffles through the papers reading the offered amounts and the letters from that day. Among the offers is an invitation to Flora’s latest party in a week’s time. She hasn’t been out in proper high society since the night she intimately joined with Azira for the first time. Letting herself be free of her work was the best decision she’s ever made. She loves Flora, but she won’t ever go back. 

A sharp pain shoots through her chest knocking what little air her lungs contain out of her. She tears at her bodice to try and allow more room for breathing, but the strong material and her stays don’t budge. The pain recedes and she sucks in air in short shallow breaths. Anything more than that and she’ll throw herself into a fit. The doctor says it’s important she keeps her coughing down. Her handkerchiefs say the same. 

She hurries to the washroom to splash some water on her face, taking some time to compose herself, and then to their sitting room where their desk is. She puts the sensitive information in her desk drawer, but leaves the rest on top, hoping Azira won’t go snooping. As she sets down the invitation she notices a note from Azira.

_Mon Amour,_

_I called for Marceline and a yard boy told me_

_she left for Paris on an errand._

_I have gone to Paris to stop her and_

_I will be back soon._

_You should not have-_

A strong rap on the door echoes through the quiet house. She puts the note down to answer it, now the only one here to do so. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, but that doesn’t mean much. As a courtesan she regularly had uninvited guests appear at her door. 

A tall man is staring at her from the other side, his dark greying hair ruffled from the hat he holds in his hand, his outfit accented with purple. 

“You must be Mademoiselle Crowley,” the man says, voice tinged with displeasure.

She tightens her grip on the door, bolstering herself for what is to come. 

“My name is Gabriel Donadieu, Azira’s father.” He pushes past her through the entryway, shoes clacking ominously on the brick. 

Antonia follows behind him at a safe distance to the receiving room. She can feel the anger radiating off him. Her skillset says be cautious, but courteous. She has no idea why he’s here, but the reason can’t be good if this is how he chooses to meet Antonia for the first time.

“Antonia, Azira will be ruined if the two of you continue on like this.” He sets his hat down on the side table next to the settee, insinuating his intention of not leaving anytime soon. “She wrote to me asking for help with what you owe. You must give this up. This is no way to live. Especially for two women.” 

“Excuse me, but you are in my residence and you have no right to talk to me like that. I ask you to leave now, Monsieur.” She gathers her skirts in her left hand, prepared to show him out herself if she must. 

Gabriel advances towards her. “Mademoiselle-” Antonia scoffs at the honorific. “-I advise you to watch your words. It is _you_ who has no right to talk like that to _me_ considering what you do and that you’re une gouine[1].”

It’s not often that Antonia is shaken by something, but she visibly recoils at the insult. Instead of giving this man what he wants, she tips her chin up and sets her face into a stony mask. Hatred over who someone loves isn’t as common as it once was and isn’t a problem in her circles of society anyway. No one cares if their prized courtesan sleeps with a man one day and woman the next. 

Gabriel glares at her, accenting each word with a step towards Antonia. “I refuse to let Azira give you everything she has and throw her life away.” 

Antonia doesn’t let her mask fall, but is pushed backwards by Gabriel’s ever approaching steps until she bumps into the settee, which startles her enough to feel the fluttering of a coughing fit in her lungs. She scrambles for her handkerchief as she doubles over coughing. She doesn’t dare look at it once her cough has subsided, and balls it into her fist instead. 

She straightens up, resolve unwavering. “And I would refuse if she offered. I have a plan as well.” She crosses to the desk, pulling out the letters and holding them out. “I’m selling all my things in Paris. My maid is going as we speak.” 

Gabriel rejects the letters with a gesture, waving her off. “It’s not just that. Your past is a stain on your reputation.” 

She clenches her jaw. Her past doesn’t matter to anyone she cares about. “My past was forgiven when Azira chose to love me and I chose to love her. Everything that came before doesn’t matter.”

“You and I both know that’s not what God sees. In order to be truly forgiven you’ll need to make a great sacrifice. Please, for the sake of both my children, give her up.” Gabriel reaches into his pocket and pulls out a picture, holding it close to his chest until Antonia is looking. “I have another daughter. Her betrothed has refused to marry her unless you leave and their wedding is soon. Would you take my daughter’s chance at happiness away from her?”

Antonia steps closer. The young girl in the picture has long dark hair, curled, but hanging loosely around her shoulders. A soft smile graces her lips. She’s about the same age Antonia was when she started her work as a courtesan. Her flowing light dress pools gently at her feet and she clutches the arm of a young gentleman staring ahead unsmiling. 

“My family will be disgraced unless you give up Azira. We’ll be ruined.” 

She looks away from the picture, unable to hold the gaze of the young girl. She can’t rip this love from the couple. She can’t let another person live the way she has for so many years. 

Antonia dabs at her chest and face as she contemplates what Gabriel is saying. “Azira and I will separate then. Your daughter will be free to get married. Then after the affair is finished Azira and I will join once again.” She nods slowly, satisfied with her choice. She can give up her love for a week or two in order to protect the dreams of another. It’ll be precious time wasted when she has so little left, but the guilt…

“You don’t understand. That is not a sacrifice. You must give her up completely.” Gabriel returns the picture to his pocket and holds out his empty hand to her palm up.

Antonia inhales sharply, coughing into her handkerchief, the dark blood a reminder of everything. “I refuse. I love Azira and I won’t. She’s the only thing I have in the world. You can’t ask me to give her up completely.”

He steps closer to her from the other side of the settee, grabbing her elbow. “Only a sacrifice of this scale will allow you to have all the happiness you could ever desire. You will be made pure again in the eyes of God.” 

She shakes her head. Giving up Azira would be the end. “I’m dying,” Antonia sobs, “If I lose Azira it’ll kill me faster. I can’t have my last moments be without Azira. I’ll never love another person.” She pulls her arm from Gabriel’s grasp, doubling over to catch her breath. 

“You are young and beautiful, you’ll find another to love. Besides, you homosexuals are notoriously unfaithful. One day time will erase your youth and beauty and she will become bored and restless. You won’t have her lasting affection because heaven won’t bless a union such as this.” 

Antonia shakes her head. “I don’t believe you.” She says one thing, but she can’t stop the sneaking doubt creeping into her mind. Who’s to say Azira wouldn’t tire and leave her? After all, she declared her everlasting love to her after their first introduction. Staying with Azira could lead to her heartbreak anyway. Will Azira stay with her through her death or abandon her like everyone else before?

“Gouine!” Gabriel spits. “Abandon this dream. Put aside your illusions. Be an angel of mercy to my family! God herself inspires my plea!” 

How could she think there would be a happy ending for her and Azira? Her fate stacks against her.

Tears fall silently from her cheek onto her chest making her pale skin seem to sparkle in the afternoon light. She thanks whoever is left watching over her that it was a calm cry until now. A sob is ripped from her burning chest as she falls to the settee. Her legs and illness betray her and she crumples to the floor instead.

“So this is the miserable fate of a fallen woman,” Antonia cries to the sky, letting the cough she’s been holding back come roaring out of her throat. Little droplets of spit go flying as she continues her lament. “Never again will I have any hope in my life. Even if God forgives me, man will not.” She can see the droplets that landed on her skirt are staining it red. 

She lets her thoughts flit through her mind as if on a spring breeze that she doesn’t have the energy to capture. She was stupid and reckless for thinking she could have everything she wanted and now she’s getting her punishment. Her crying is ugly. And sloppy. And everything a courtesan isn’t. Gabriel gives her the time she needs to cry, but his menacing presence isn’t a comfort. 

Antonia tries to keep the bitterness out of her voice, tries to remain poised, but she’s long past that point. “If I do this, you must speak with your other daughter and tell her what I did for her. I had one ray of light left in my life and I’m sacrificing it for her before I die.” 

Gabriel uncrosses his arms, but keeps his feet planted firmly in front of her. “You’ll be treated well in life because of your suffering. God will bless your noble act.” 

She scoffs, but she’s too tired to fight his insistence. She’ll die before she gets any blessings. Perhaps her blessing will be a swift and painless death. 

Calming, she dabs at her face and lips. She can taste the metallic tang on her lips and can tell the blood has stained their center darker. “Tell me how... How do I leave her?” She pushes herself to her feet with the help of the settee, matching her stance with Gabriel’s though he’s a head taller than her. 

“Tell her you’ve come to your senses and you no longer love her.” Gabriel cocks his head, waiting for a response, like a hawk looking at a mouse. 

Antonia lets another sob escape. “She won’t believe me.” She presses a hand to her face, feeling the warmth instead of the ice she’s used to. “And if I leave she’ll follow me.” 

Gabriel crosses his arms once more, displeased by her lack of a solution. The devotion of the lovers runs deep.

No, in order to say goodbye to Azira, she’ll have to break her heart completely. It’s the only way Azira will let her go. Antonia glances around the room, arms wrapped around her stomach in despair. There isn’t anything she could do or say to convince Azira she’s not completely in love with her- Her eyes settle on the invitation resting on the desk, Flora’s party. If she goes back to her old life after everything they’ve done, after Azira rescued her from it, after Azira saved what was left of her soul, it might just convince her. If she wants her plan to work, she’ll have to move fast. 

“I’ll do it, but you must promise me two things.” 

Gabriel considers her for a moment and Antonia can’t help but feel like the mouse again. A shiver runs down her spine. 

“Once I’m dead, don’t let her curse my memory.” Even as they speak, she can feel her death rushing faster and faster towards her. It seems so real now. She wasn’t ignoring it before, but it seemed so distant when Azira held her. Now she can feel how weak she actually is; how the cold isn’t coming from the open window, but rather from inside her. “And tell her of my sacrifice. Make sure she knows my last heartbeat is for her.” 

Gabriel nods his acceptance, picking up his hat from the side table. “Au revoir[2], mademoiselle Crowley. 

“Oh Dieu[3].” Antonia’s tears flow freely again. “We won’t see each other again. Make sure Azira is happy.” 

“Au revoir,” Gabriel repeats, stepping towards the door.

“Adieu[4],” Antonia replies, watching as Gabriel shows himself out. 

How can she tell Azira of what she’s doing in a way she’ll accept without question. Antonia will have to be gone when Azira gets back. There’s no way she’ll be able to do this in person. One look into her eyes and it’ll be over. One look at her lips, her hair, her body, how she smiles at her when she’s in love, hears the hearty laugh she gives when she gets home, sees the look of concern once she notices something is wrong, and it’ll be all over. 

Antonia curses, “Ah Dieu, give me the courage,” and moves to the desk, pulling out her pen and paper. The chair feels harsh and unforgiving as she settles in, much like her own mind. 

_Azira,_

Antonia stops and scratches it out. She has no right to use her name like that anymore.

_Madame Azira Donadieu,_

_I have made a mistake. The affection I_

_previously expressed to you was false,_

_and I now feel that my indifference_

_towards you grows stronger every day._

_I’m afraid your opinion of love was wrong._

_I miss my old life and have come to view you_

_as a figure of contempt. If we were united,_

_it would only cause a great hatred to blossom_

_inside me. I do not have a faithful heart to offer_

_you, nor do you have one to offer me._

She collapses onto the table, bawling. Every word is a lie. Her sobs shake her body as the table digs uncomfortably into her ribs. She loves Azira with every remaining breath she has. Her hand cramps from writing in this position, but she doesn’t have the will power to sit up. 

_Baronne Beelze has graciously offered me his_

_guidance and patronage._

Not a complete lie. The Baronne did offer his patronage. She turned it down at the time, but he made sure she knew it was outstanding. 

_I think sincerely, and you will do me the greatest_

_pleasure in avoiding me. I’ll excuse any lack of_

_response with your compliance to my request._

_Adieu,_

_Madame Antonia Crowley_

She finishes the letter with her signature, sloppy from the angle, and lets her head fall down onto her arm.

“What are you doing, Antonia?” A familiar voice asks.

“Nothing.” She bolts up, letter in hand, folding it quickly and holding it behind her back to conceal it from Azira.

“You’re upset. Who are you writing to?” Azira takes a step closer, holding out a hand for Antonia to take, which she ignores though it breaks her heart. 

“To you.” 

“Let me see!” Azira reaches towards her hand holding the letter, but she extends her arm out of Azira’s reach, hopping away. 

“It’s nothing.” Antonia holds her breath, waiting for Azira to back away. She can’t do it like this. 

Azira does what Antonia expects and turns away, “Forgive me. I’m worried.” 

Antonia takes the few extra seconds away from Azira’s eyes to tuck the letter into her bodice, shifting her handkerchief over so they’ll both fit, and wipes at her face with her hands, desperately trying to rid any evidence of distress from her face. 

Azira paces the receiving room floor. “I left to stop Marceline from selling your things and I returned to my father’s carriage waiting outside.” 

Antonia takes a few hurried steps towards her. “Did you see him?” Her adrenaline is keeping most thoughts of her illness at bay and allowing her to stay on her feet though she wishes to do anything but. 

“No, not yet. He wrote me a harsh letter, but I know once he meets you, he’ll love you.” She offers Antonia a reassuring smile and tries to cup Antonia’s face.

Antonia’s hand hovers above Azira’s, almost lost in the fantasy once again, but then she’s dodging her. Ah, how much misplaced faith she puts in Antonia. It’ll hurt that much more once she’s gone. Her skirt swirls around her as she lunges out of Azira’s reach. 

Antonia says urgently, “You go first and calm him. Your presence will reassure him and then we can meet him together.” Her eyes light up with her internal hysterics. “I’ll fall at his feet and he won’t deny us our happiness. We can live together forever.” She holds out her hands, grasping at the air. “I love you, Azira, I love you.” Her breathing speeds up as her head starts to spin. “You love me, you do love me.” 

Azira holds out her arms for Antonia, brow furrowed in concern, tears in her own eyes threatening to release. 

And Antonia can’t resist. She falls into her, legs threatening to give out. Repeating, “Love me, Azira, love me,” and “I love you,” over and over as Azira frantically comforts her. This will be the last time she’ll hear it. 

“I adore you!” 

The emotion behind Azira’s voice shreds her. She sobs into Azira’s shoulder, jacket sleeves clutched and wrinkling in her fists. 

“Why are you crying?” She kisses Antonia’s cheek like an arrow to her heart.

There’s no way Azira will believe her if she continues to act like this. 

She straightens up and lets go of Azira’s jacket, letting her arms float down to her sides. Her head and her chest ache, and her lungs feel like they might explode, but she does her best to hide it all. She does her best to hide her fear and sorrow and grief. 

“I was just overcome. I’m better now.” She fakes a smile, knowing Azira can see right through her. “See I’m smiling.”

Azira strokes her hair, but Antonia puts her hands on her chest and pushes her back. It doesn’t work. She doesn’t have the strength, and Azira just reaches for her again. Antonia steps back, knowing the only way to escape is by putting distance between them. 

Slowly she backs towards the door, pushing down all her feelings. “I’ll be outside among the flowers, always near you.” 

She turns and hurries to the door, throwing it open, but stopping in the doorway, one hand placed on either side of the frame. It hits her then that if all goes to plan this’ll be the last time she’ll see Azira, the last time she speaks to Azira, the last time she tells her how much she loves her. It’s overwhelming and she feels pulled as if tethered back to Azira’s side. 

Antonia pivots to face Azira, letting all her frustration and heartbreak out. “Love me, Azira!” She stumbles closer towards her outstretched arms. “Love me as I love you!” 

She throws herself into Azira’s waiting arms, ready to memorize exactly how they feel. The press of their chests together does nothing to calm her like it normally does. She wraps her arms around Azira’s neck and laces her fingers into her golden hair. 

“Please love me as I adore you,” Antonia whispers into Azira’s ear. 

Azira peppers heavy kisses everywhere she can reach. It makes leaving her that much harder. 

Placing a hand on each of Azira’s cheeks and resting her forehead on her’s, she closes her eyes to say, “Adieu.”

Azira’s hands skate over her hips and back and shoulders, grabbing at her needily. Antonia gives her one last kiss, hoping to convey how desperately she loves Azira, before backing up and using what’s left of her energy to run out the front door. 

She pulls the door shut behind her, slumping against it. She only has a few seconds to catch her breath before Azira comes out to find her father. Pushing through her pain, lungs on fire, she hurries to the nearest person she can find, a gardener. 

She retrieves the letter from where it was tucked in her bodice and holds it out. “Please find Marceline and tell her to meet me in Paris, and then give this to Azira.” Her heart pounds in her chest, repeating over and over ‘go back, go back,’ practically pleading with her. Luckily she’s had enough practice ignoring the sorry begging of affected souls.

* * *

[1] A homophobic slur for lesbian

[2] An informal goodbye, equivalent to see you later

[3] “Oh God”

[4] A formal goodbye meant to be final


	5. Scene 2

“You’ve changed your mind?” Baronne Beezle leans back in their chair, crossing a leg over their knee. 

The simple gesture makes Antonia feel as if she’s being swallowed by her own chair. The Baronne has an innate ability to make anyone feel small despite their slight frame. 

“I’ve seen the error of moving to the country and giving up my past life.” Antonia keeps her eyes on the floor, hands clasped passively in her lap. As much as she hates it, she knows when to play up the naive girl certain types view her as. She bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying the truth. “I was mistaken in my love for Madame Donadieu.” She can taste the familiar metallic tang of blood. “I’ll still repay the debt.”

“I’m glad you’ve come to see it as I have. There’s no reason for you to pay any money to me, seeing as it would go right back to you in one way or another. Although, we can consider…  _ other forms _ of payment if you are truly dedicated to paying me back. 

Antonia stifles a scream as the Baronne uncrosses their legs and leans over, putting a hand on her knee and sliding it slowly up. It feels like a violation, like she’s betraying Azira… even though she herself performed the worst betrayal the moment she agreed to leave her. 

“I did miss you Antonia.” The Baronne removes their hand from her thigh and sits back. “Did you miss me?”

Antonia nods, not able to speak the words just yet. In time she’ll be able to. If it wasn’t for Azira showing her how life could be, she would’ve missed the Baronne had she been gone. They were willing to provide her with support while allowing her to continue working. At the time that sounded like the perfect solution to her lonesome life. She was blind and ignorant to the truth. While she was away, she missed the familiarity of her routine, but that was soon replaced by a better one featuring Azira. In time she’ll return to normal.

“Show me how much you missed me.” The Baronne unbuttons their pants and shifts them down enough to expose themself. 

Antonia knows what they’re asking for. Well… not asking so much as they are telling. It was a common favor she performed for her patrons before she left, one that the Baronne was especially fond of. Antonia sinks to her knees between the Baronne’s legs as they scoot closer to the edge of the chair. 

She pushes her heartbreak down, deep down. She doesn’t have any claim to Azira, so she shouldn’t let Azira have such a hold on her. The faster she accepts that, the faster she’ll be able to forget about her small Eden with Azira and move on with what’s left of her life.

The Baronne grabs the back of her head and moves her into place as Antonia steadies herself with her hands on the chair. Trying to forget about the sharp pain in her jaw and how tired her tongue is, she focuses instead on the grip of their fingers in her hair. How different it is from how Azira holds her… held her. She catalogues the way the Baronne presses into her mouth, trying to remember what drives them closer to the edge.

She changes her angle, heels digging into her skin painfully. The new angle pleases the Baronne, but her neck is aching from the strain. She won’t be able to keep this pace up for long. Luckily, the Baronne comes after a few attentive minutes in the new position. They twist her hair in their hands, tugging forcefully. 

“Merde, Antonia!” the Baronne shouts, slumping backwards into the chair. 

Antonia sits back, giving her knees a break, and discretely wipes her mouth with her handkerchief, picking a few stray hairs out of her mouth. She may have to go back to performing favors for the Baronne, but she’s not going to pretend she enjoys their taste anymore.


	6. Letters 2

November 26th, 1853

My dearest, Antonia,

I do not understand why you have done this. 

The expressions contained in your letter are 

so poignant. What is wrong, mon amour? 

What has changed? I am well read in 

the scriptures of your heart and I do not believe 

that you were mistaken in your love for me. 

How could two people so completely in love 

fall apart so fast? You have told me time and again 

that I saved you, yet now you say being with me is 

hell. If you explain to me what happened, we can 

fix this. It does not have to end like this.

Fidèlement votre[1],

Azira 

~

(no response)

~

November 29th, 1853

My dearest, Antonia,

You have yet to respond to my previous letter. 

The tiniest of doubts has entered my mind that 

you were serious when you said I fill you with 

contempt, though my knowledge of your love for 

me carries on. I know about the offer the Baronne 

made to you. There are other ways we can handle 

the debt. Do not sell your soul for me. 

Please come home. 

Fidèlement votre,

Your Azira

~

(no response)

~

December 3rd, 1853

My dearest, Antonia,

I love you, mon amour. Please, return to me. 

Fidèlement votre,

Azira

~

(no response)

~

December 9th, 1853

Antonia, 

I doubt this letter will reach you in time, 

but I will be attending Flora’s party. I am not 

giving up until you tell me yourself that you 

wish to never see me again. Only spoken without 

hesitation will I accept your dismissal.

Azira

* * *

[1] Yours faithfully


	7. Chapter 3

A single sharp knock at her door jolts Antonia from her thoughts as she sits at her vanity, idly arranging her intricate updo. Her long red hair is twisted into a loose chignon, secured in place with pins adored with pearls. Baronne Beelze must be here to escort her to Flora’s party. Quickly, she dips her finger into her rouge, tapping it lightly onto her lips and cheeks. She can’t ease her coughing anymore and her illness is taking a toll. Her skin is so pale that her lips are lighter now too, much paler than natural and off putting. She picks up a modest strand of pearls to go along with her dark red ballgown and slips it around her neck, but before she can clasp it, the Baronne enters and stops her with a hand on her shoulder. 

“I prefer gold on you.” They pick up the intricate gold necklace from her jewelry box and clasp it around her neck, fingers brushing her collarbone as they go.

A cold shiver runs down Antonia’s spine and she closes her eyes against it, heart constricting. The Baronne’s fingers tangle in the loose hair at the nape of Antonia’s neck. She gasps as the memory of Azira doing the same the last time they slept together, floods her senses. It’s almost as if she’s back in that night, clutching Azira’s muscular forearm as her hand cradled the back of Antonia’s head and neck. 

The Baronne smirks and lets their hand fall to Antonia’s shoulder while Antonia blinks up at them, dazed and trying to forget the life she left behind. “Now you’re presentable.” They back up and offer Antonia a hand.

She smiles subduedly and takes the offering. She’s not sure she could’ve stood on her own in this state. They walk her to the door, and she swipes a newly dyed red handkerchief on her way out, tucking it into its usual place. The party is within walking distance, although perhaps not walking distance for Antonia anymore. They go slow, which she’s thankful for, but either way they’ll be arriving late. 

The party is in full swing when they walk in. Flora has gone all out for this one, and Antonia likes to humor herself thinking it was for her, but really she knows it’s because Carnival is coming up soon, less than a month now, she thinks. Performers mill around in fanciful costumes, entertaining the crowds with juggling, exotic dances, tales of far off lands, and other more explicit activities. And of course there’s as much drinking and gambling as one could want, it wouldn’t be a Flora party without gambling.

The Baronne leads them through the main room unnoticed and into one of the smaller rooms where cards are taking place. As soon as they step into the room a hush falls over the crowd. Something in Antonia’s gut feels wrong and it’s sinking lower and lower. Everyone in the room turns to look at them, everyone except… 

Azira… 

She stands with her back to the pair, a few banknotes on the table in front of her. Antonia can tell from her posture that she’s quite aware the two of them just stepped into the room.

Flora flutters up to them and takes Antonia’s hands in hers, turning her slightly away from Azira. “It’s so good to see you, Antonia! I thought you wouldn’t come.”

Antonia smiles at her old friend. “How could I pass up your kind invitation?” Silently she chastises herself over ending up here again, in her old life. But there was nothing she could do about it. She’s destined to be this woman.

“Azira is here, that gouine!” Baronne Beelze spits. 

Both Flora and Antonia cringe, but Flora speaks through her displeasure. “I’m grateful to you, Baronne, for coming as well.”

The Baronne nods, lips pressed together, and gestures for Flora to go back to the party before turning to Antonia. “You will not say one word to this Azira.” They grip Antonia’s arm tight, shaking her slightly. “Do you hear me? Not one word.”

Antonia curses under her breath, “Oh Dieu, why did I come back here?” but nods her acceptance.

“A four! Madame Azira wins again!” a partygoer cheers. 

“Lucky at cards and unlucky in love! I’ll win a fortune here and return to the country.” Azira turns around and looks Antonia dead in the eyes. She’s not sure what to make of her anymore. There’s a fire in Azira’s eyes that she’s never seen before.

“Have mercy on me-” Antonia begs whoever is listening. Her breath is coming in shallow bursts, heart pumping blood faster than oxygen can be delivered. It makes her lightheaded and unsteady. She covers it up by holding onto the Baronne’s arm. 

“Will you return alone?” Flora questions Azira, loud enough so Antonia can hear. 

“No,” Azira holds up her winnings as if a challenge, “with the woman who just left me!” 

“Ah dieu!” Antonia says at the same time the Baronne lunges forward shouting, “Madame!” 

Antonia’s heart squeezes and she manages to stave off a coughing fit. “Baronne, restrain yourself or I’ll leave you,” she hisses. It all is happening so fast. It’s impossible for Antonia to keep up with it all, barely able to process her own words. 

Flora gently pushes Azira’s hands down towards the table. “Have pity on her!” 

“Did you call me? All I heard was the buzzing of a fly.” Azira taunts Baronne Beelze.

It’s one too many jabs for them because they push Antonia’s arm off and stalk over to the card table, placing a bet against Azira and calling for a card. Antonia stumbles over to the nearest object she can use to keep on her feet, which happens to be the sofa in the middle of the chaos. 

Azira is here to win her back, or at least says she is. However, her unbridled rage speaks volumes. She’s not sure whether she has become an item to win and own and this is all a game, or if her rage is because she knows Antonia is lying. 

Several hands go by as Antonia is lost in thought. The cheers of the onlookers blend into white noise, fueling her panic. 

If Azira is truly here to get her back, would she go with? Her resolve isn’t that strong. She wants more than anything to go back to Azira and to fall into her arms. She wants more than anything to kiss every inch of her body. 

Flora calls out, “Antonia, the Baronne has paid for your holiday with just this round alone!” 

The rest of the party cheers, shouting affirmations towards both Azira and the Baronne. Antonia hears the Baronne curse followed by a crash as something is tipped over. She clutches her chest and silently pleads again for mercy. It feels like she’s dying. Well… she is, but this is a different sort of death. She’ll certainly die if this aggressive match continues any further. There’s only two ways this will end, and one will certainly be the death of her. 

The parlour doors are thrown open, revealing a waiter and behind him a long table stretching out. “Dinner is served!” 

The gambling freezes momentarily and Antonia can hear the Baronne threaten over the low chattering of the other guests. “We’ll continue after we dine.” 

Azira holds her ground, determination settling like a rock in her voice. “Any game you’d like.” 

The two opponents walk without thought of Antonia into the dining hall. Flora notices Antonia left alone and goes to her side, helping her up. 

This may be Antonia’s chance to speak to Azira and beg her to go. Antonia whispers into Flora’s ear, “Tell Azira to meet me in the main receiving room. I must speak to her.” 

Flora nods and floats off to find Azira in the group at the table.

Antonia hurries to the main room, hands clutched as she worries her fingers. Hopefully the bitterness held in Azira’s heart will bring her to Antonia if not for the sound of her voice. Antonia paces the length of the room while what feels like minutes go by before Azira joins her. 

Antonia’s back is to Azira when Azira speaks from the other side of the room, “You called for me?”

It’s not bitterness Antonia hears in Azira’s voice, but sorrow. She spins around to see her, too fast for her lungs to keep up with, which throws her into a coughing fit. She doubles over, handkerchief pressed to her mouth. Worry flashes in Azira’s eyes, but then it’s gone and Antonia can only see the residual anger and exhaustion. Dieu, Azira is exhausted. They’re both so exhausted. 

“Please leave. Azira, you’re in danger-” Antonia doesn’t have the energy to plead. She doesn’t have the energy to be here, doing this, seeing Azira again. 

“-Enough.” Azira cuts her short, “You think I’m a coward?” Azira steps further into the room.

Antonia puts a hand to her head. “No, never, I-”

“Then what are you afraid of!” Azira cuts her off again.

“I’m afraid of the Baronne!” Her shouting prompts another coughing fit, which Azira barrels straight through.

“I see. You’re afraid if they fall into my hands that one swift blow will take away your protector and lover.” Azira throws her arms open wide. “Would such a misfortune scare you?”

“I swear that isn’t it! The only misfortune I fear is if they killed you… It would kill me too…”

Azira crosses her arms and leans away from Antonia. “What do you care about my death?”

Antonia isn’t sure how to get it through to Azira. Nothing she can say will change her mind. Nothing, that is, except one thing. Still she can’t say it. How could she tell her one love that she vowed to leave her? Much less that it was her own father who made her promise. It would be devastating. 

Antonia steps closer, lungs aching and begging her to stop this. “Please… leave…” she says barely above a whisper.

Azira’s eyes flash again and she rushes over to her, only a pristine white chaise between them. “Only if you follow.” She holds out her hands to Antonia. “Swear it!” 

It’s getting harder and harder to stay on her feet, her illness rearing its ugly head. She shakes her head no, unable to get out any words and sinks onto the chaise, kneeling before Azira. Azira’s hands slowly lower and Antonia avoids eye contact. She reminds herself that this is what has to be done. She can’t be the person who loves and gets to be loved anymore. She’s fallen too far into the sulfur of hell. 

Antonia finds her words after Azira is silent. “Forget those who are dishonored and stained.” 

Azira offers her her hands again. Antonia can feel the tenderness radiating from them. Isn’t there anything Azira will leave her for? She’ll drag her down too if she’s not careful. 

The words are being torn out of her throat, ripped from her lungs without permission, and she can feel the shrapnel bleeding into her. “Leave me! I made a sacred oath to leave you!” 

Azira has the opposite reaction than what Antonia expected, she reaches over and caresses her cheek, fingers edging their way into her hairline. “Who could ask such a thing of you, mon amour?”

Antonia lets herself linger in the moment, linger at the familiar touch, before she pulls back. “Only one could convince me.” 

“The Baronne?”

A beat, and then Antonia nods. She has to minimize the damage. Control the bleeding.

“Do you love them?”

Time freezes. Here’s her chance to undo everything she’s done. She can take back everything she’s said and live with Azira once again. They’ll get their paradise in the country, and she’ll die loved and in love… but can she doom Azira’s sister to the same fate? Antonia breathes deeply, or at least as deep as her lungs allow without spasming.

“Yes. I love them.” Antonia forces herself to meet Azira’s eyes.

As if bitten, Azira retracts her hand, the spark of hope completely extinguished, and hurries out of the main receiving room, beyond Antonia’s line of sight. Antonia falls forward onto her hands, sobbing. It was what had to be done in order to protect the innocent. 

“Everyone! Come here!” Antonia can hear Azira call out to the other guests, leading them back to her and their scene of conflict. 

They filter into the receiving room. Antonia wishes she could leave and be done with this, or better yet, that God herself would come down and smite Antonia where she kneels. Fitting that she should start this life on her knees and end it doing the same. 

“Do you know this woman?” Azira races back to Antonia’s side, blind with rage, grasping at her arm and pulling her back to sitting. 

Some of the crowd mumbles their concern, but Flora pushes her way to the front followed swiftly by the Baronne. “Who? Antonia?”

Azira continues, “Do you know what she’s done?” 

“Please,” Antonia begs, “don’t do this.” Her tears run down her face and mix with the rouge. She’s sure it’s revealing how ill she actually is. Her sobs wrack her body and her lungs are protesting how deeply she’s inhaling. 

“I blindly accepted this woman’s love, like a fool! But there’s still time! I wish to cleanse myself of this stain.” Azira tosses Antonia’s arm from her hand. 

Antonia shrieks, which turns into a violent cough. She’s not fast enough to catch it with her handkerchief, so droplets of blood mixed with tears and rouge go flying.

Azira reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a stack of banknotes, her winnings from the night, and continues with her speech of knives. Her voice is tinged with the dark tone of dismissal. “You are all witnesses.” She throws the notes at Antonia. “I’ve paid her what I owe.” 

The notes go flying. Some hit her in the face, and one slices her arm. The guests are outraged. Someone calls for Azira’s swift removal from the party, another faints into her escort’s arms. 

Antonia thinks Flora has moved to her side, judging by how close her voice sounds as she says, “What a horrible insult! Do you want to kill her?” but her vision has tunneled down to her and Azira alone. 

This is what Antonia deserves. She’s acted like a harlequin and a folle[1]. There’s something so serene about sitting in the middle of her dismissal and humiliation, like being in the eye of a storm centered on her and Azira. Activity and chaos wip around them while they are still, eyes glued only to each other. Antonia tips her chin up and pushes her shoulders back. This may be her ultimate punishment for living like she has, but she won’t lash out. She’ll remain poised and resolute through her disgrace. She refuses to let her actions take Azira down with her. Then hopefully Azira can look back at this moment and realize how much Antonia loved her.

Antonia vaguely recognizes Flora speaking again. “Azira, what have you done? I don’t recognize you anymore.” She puts her hand on Antonia’s shoulder, and dabs at Antonia’s bleeding arm with her own handkerchief.

Azira deflates, eyes locked on the floor, realizing just what she’s done to Antonia. “I am horrified. Tortured by jealousy and disillusioned by love, I’ve lost my reason! I can’t ask her to forgive me now. Dieu!” She runs a hand through her hair, disturbing the slicked back curls.

Flora prompts Antonia to stand, which she does, but struggles from the strain on her heart and lungs. Still, she doesn’t remove her eyes from Azira.

Eyes casting to the ceiling, Azira shouts, “I couldn’t run from her, so I came here spurred by anger! Now that I’ve vented my fury I am sick with remorse!” She balls her fists up, arm muscles bulging. 

Flora leads Antonia away from Azira and just as she’s about to leave the center of the hurricane, she stops. She can feel the pull of the stormy tide behind her, but she has one last thing to say to Azira. Things may have been disastrous for them, a cruel fate bestowed on them by whoever is watching, but she cannot leave Azira thinking Antonia hates her.

“Azira,” Antonia calls, barely loud enough to be heard above the fury of the crowd, “Not even your contempt has put my love for you to the test. The day will come when you realize and admit how much I loved you.” Antonia, overcome but still frighteningly calm, lets her betrayal show in her words. “May God only then save you from remorse. I shall be dead, but I will love you still.” 

The Baronne edges over to them, stalking Antonia and Azira like a cat. Flora wraps her free arm around Antonia’s shoulder. 

The Baronne leans into Azira, face inches away., “Your insult has shocked only some of us, but this outrage will not go unavenged.” 

Antonia struggles against Flora, realizing the Baronne means to duel her love, but even in her good health she was unable to escape her hold. It’s not much work for Flora to hold her back.

“I will show you that I am well and able to break your pride!” The Baronne Beelze removes themself from Azira’s space and agonizingly slowly pulls at the fingers of their glove. 

Antonia shrieks and pushes harder against Flora, ignoring her lungs’ stabbing protest.

The Baronne slips their glove off and tosses it to the floor at Azira’s feet. 

Azira picks it up.

Antonia falls into Flora’s arms, sobbing again. Someone emerges from the crowd to help Flora move Antonia away from the scene. As she’s consumed by the mob, Antonia tries to get a final look at Azira, but the guests fill in around her to shelter her from any more harm.   
  


* * *

[1] A madwoman, crazed


	8. Scene 3

Her home doesn’t feel welcoming anymore. It hasn’t for a while, but she was able to stave it off with the little bit of hope she had that maybe Monsieur Donadieu would change his mind. The cold air from her open window wraps its fingers around her and shoves them down her throat, stealing her air. 

“Why is this open?” Flora asks Antonia, crossing to the window and shutting it herself.

Antonia pulls her shawl closer around herself, bringing her feet up onto the chair with her. 

The doctor responds without looking up from his pocket watch, one hand on Antonia’s wrist, “The air was so stale when I arrived.” He puts her arm down and instructs her to lean forward so he can listen to her lungs, pulling her shawl down in the back. “The fresh air is good for her.” 

Flora rolls her eyes and sits down across from Antonia. 

Before Flora can say anything Antonia speaks, pulling her arm to her chest, “I’m not going back to being a courtesan.” 

Flora blinks at her expectantly, waiting for her to finish.

“I’d rather live out the rest of my life here than ever touch anyone else. It’s been hell these last two weeks, Flora.” 

The doctor puts his stethoscope back in his bag and pats Antonia’s shoulder. “It’ll be better for your health. All those parties put quite a strain on your lungs.” 

Antonia tightens her shawl again, the chill still in the air even though the window was closed.

Flora plays with a ruffle on her skirt. “The duel is tonight…” she trails off. 

Antonia won’t meet her eyes, afraid of what she’ll find in them. “I don’t want to know.” 

Flora nods and drops the subject, staying silent, eyes trained dutifully on the floor.

If she never finds out what happens, she can live in the fantasy that Azira is alive and out there somewhere. Maybe she finds another to love and they get married, or they don’t marry but instead run off together. Maybe Azira leaves Paris entirely. But whatever happens, she imagines her as happy and full of life. 

She knows the Baronne is going to kill Azira. She can feel it in her soul. They’re too vengeful a person to let even the simplest of things go, too possessive to calm any envy.

Or perhaps it’s her own death she’s feeling.

When Antonia doesn’t speak again, Flora gets up to show herself and the doctor out.

Flora turns back at the door. “Au revoir, Antonia.” 

Antonia doesn’t stand. She doesn’t have the energy for it anymore, and she knows any movement will throw her into a coughing fit. “Adieu, Flora.” 

Flora presses her lips together into a thin line, eyes shining with the tears Antonia knows she won’t let fall in front of her. In one quick movement Flora walks out the door, pulling it shut with a final clack of metal on wood.


	9. Letters 3

(The following letters were written by Antonia Crowley without any intention of mailing them. They were later mailed unbeknownst to her by Marceline to Gabriel Donadieu on December 21st, 1853.)

December 11th, 1853

Ma cherie, Azira,

I am sorry we had to end like this. I truly

did not want to cause you harm, physical

or emotional. I hope in time you will

forgive me for my transgressions. The

doctor says I am nearing the end of my life.

He said the party was too much for me and

that I should not have gone. Marceline has

arranged for him to come again in a few days.

She is hopeful I will have recovered from the

party by then, but I am not. I feel different

now. I wish you were here by my side for this. 

Je t'aimerai jusqu'à la fin de mes jours[1],

Antonia

~

December 14th, 1853

Azira,

The doctor came today and confirmed

my suspicion. I am only getting worse.

It doesn’t help my condition that it is

taking all my strength to keep my grief

at bay. The doctor says I should try to

put the past behind me in order to get

better, but I do not understand how I

can do that when the past is you. I

cannot put those memories away any

more than I can live with the guilt of

what I have done.

Je t'aimerai jusqu'à la fin de mes jours,

Antonia

~

December 18th, 1853

Azira,

My condition took a turn for the worse

yesterday. I collapsed on the balcony

and was unable to stand on my own.

Marceline needed to call for help. I

have reassured her it was only a

momentary problem, as some time later

I was able to stand and walk on my own

just fine. Still, the doctor is coming

tomorrow as a precautionary measure. 

Je t'aimerai jusqu'à la fin de mes jours,

Antonia

~

December 19th, 1853

The doctor says I have two weeks left,

three if I am lucky. I do not feel very

lucky anymore. Not since I left you.

Je t'aimerai jusqu'à la fin de mes jours,

Antonia

~

December 21st, 1853

I woke up with a high fever yesterday.

I can barely hold this pen to write. The

doctor says my body will get used to it

in a few days. For now it has thrown me

into a hazy cycle of sleep and wake. I

cannot stop thinking about your sister.

I hope she got the wedding she deserves.

I imagine her in my head and how

beautiful she must look. I also imagine you

standing with her as a witness.

You look beautiful.

You have always looked beautiful.

Unless my strength returns by some miracle,

I think this will be the last time I will write

my thoughts. Please remember how much

I loved you.

Je t'aimerai jusqu'à la fin de mes jours,

(signature missing, later forged by Marceline)

* * *

[1] “I’ll love you until the end of my days”


	10. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! The final chapter! Thank you for sticking with the fic and I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have. I'm @madquerade on tumblr if you want to come yell at me.

Antonia slips in and out of sleep. It seems like she hasn’t gotten a proper night’s sleep in weeks. The covers around Antonia provide little warmth for her cold body. On top of that, her skin has turned sensitive and even the silk feels rough and scratches her body uncomfortably. She sighs weakly and uses what strength she has to sit up. So this is what her miserable life has been leading to. Fitting that she’ll go out spotted with blood and stripped of love. A life lived for pleasure will only lead to unhappiness. Antonia squeezes her eyes shut, trying to block out her surroundings. They only remind her of pain. At least she managed to do one thing right with her life. She saved Azira’s sister.

Antonia opens her eyes. Azira’s sister stands opposite her in the room. Her dark hair falls gracefully around her shoulders, adorned with flowers and a white veil. Her golden brown eyes sparkle as she slowly glides parallel to Antonia’s bed. The wedding dress she’s wearing brushes the floor and trails behind her as she walks ever closer to her destiny. An invisible wind stirs the hem of her veil and plays in her hair. Antonia tracks her with her eyes. Azira’s sister floats the length of the room and disappears from sight. 

Antonia leans forward, trying to catch another glimpse of the girl out of her field of vision, but the doctor enters and chides her for exerting herself. She reluctantly lies back against the pillows. Marceline pulls up a chair to Antonia’s bed side for the doctor. He sits down and thanks Marceline while pulling out his stethoscope. He listens to her heart and lungs, having her lean forward at his instruction. Antonia can’t imagine he’s hearing much over the dark crackle of her breathing. She has to fight for each breath now. It’s an uphill battle and one that she knows she’s losing. The doctor leans over to Marceline, hovering nervously nearby, and whispers something. If Antonia was stronger, she’d try to eavesdrop, but that would take too much energy. 

“How am I doing?” Antonia offers a feeble smile, voice barely above a whisper. 

He gives her a reassuring pat on the arm. “You’ll make a full recovery, ma cherie.” He says it with such conviction, but his facial expression betrays him, twisted into a concerned frown.

It’s okay. She knows he’s lying anyway. She’s nearing her final chapter. 

The doctor pulls Marceline aside to another room, presumably to offer her advice on how to care for her in her final hours. Antonia reaches under her pillow, retrieving the letter delivered to her almost two weeks ago from Monsieur Donadieu. Though her hope has long since faded, it brings her a small comfort. She rereads it once more, fingers taking care to not rip the paper at the worn creases. 

_ Madame Crowley, _

_ You kept your promise, so I will keep mine.  _

_ The duel has taken place! The Baron was  _

_ wounded, but is recovering. Azira was not harmed.  _

Her heart flutters at those words every time she reads them. Even though she could not offer her the life she desperately wanted, Antonia was not the cause of losing that chance all together. One day Azira will be able to reach her destiny.

_ Azira, heartbroken by your act, has gone abroad.  _

_ I’ll admit I was not planning on revealing your  _

_ sacrifice, but I was moved by your letters. _

Antonia spent quite some time thinking about what letters Gabriel meant. The conclusion she landed on was that Marceline found her unsent letters to Azira and mailed them herself, otherwise a letter fairy delivered them against her wishes. 

_ I myself wrote to her as soon as I made my decision.  _

_ She will return to ask your pardon. Take care  _

_ of yourself. You deserve a happier future.  _

_ Gabriel Donadieu _

Antonia holds back a sob. It’s too late, now. She’s waited too long and now she’ll die before she gets here. She throws back the covers, a sudden determination to keep her strength flooding her veins. She’ll survive long enough for Azira to arrive. 

Shakily she puts her feet on the floor, testing her legs ability to hold her weight before standing. All seems right for the moment, so she chances it, and manages to walk to her vanity. She picks up the brush and messily runs it through her hair before picking up the mirror.

“Ah! How I’ve changed,” Antonia exclaims. The person looking back at her is a stranger, pale and weary. Her bright fiery hair has dulled. Her skin is grey and so dry it looks as if she might shed and become a snake. The only spot of color is her lips, but even they are unnaturally dark, stained red from the blood she’s been coughing up. She can feel her breathing get heavier and knows if she doesn’t retreat soon, she’ll have a coughing fit. 

She slams the mirror down onto her vanity. “Adieu, sweet dreams of the past, with this disease every hope is dead!” Antonia turns back to her bed, taking small hesitant steps. Her lungs feel like they’re bursting, too late to stop her cough. She doubles over as she reaches the bed, one hand on the mattress to keep her up. Her cough is rough and hacking. She’s given up on using a handkerchief to contain the blood, it just soaks through to her hand anyway. 

“Smile upon the woman who has strayed,” Antonia pleads with the air and whoever is listening, tears mingling with the blood on her lips. “No cross nor name will mark my bones when I’m gone.”

Marceline overhears her cries and rushes into the bedroom. “ _Merde_! Antonia! What are you doing?” She grabs Antonia’s arms and urges her into bed. 

Antonia tries to wave her off, but it doesn’t work. “I just wanted a change of pace and some air. This bed is suffocating.” 

Marceline helps Antonia get situated in bed again, fluffing her pillows, and helps her sit up. “Let me open the window for you, but just for a moment. I don’t want you catching a chill.” 

The sounds of outside come filtering in, muffled by the thick curtains, cheers and laughter.

“Is today a holiday?” Antonia stretches, trying to see out the window where Marceline is pulling the curtain back. 

“All of Paris is going mad. It’s Carnival today.” Marceline opens the window more and leans out, examining the crowd gathering in the streets in front of their residence. “The parade will be happening any moment-” Marceline squeaks out a noise of alarm and quickly closes the window, pulling the curtains tight. “Madame, you must not get excited. I want to prepare you…” 

Antonia’s heart speeds up. There’s only one reason Marceline would request she not get excited. 

Footsteps echo down the hallway, getting louder as the visitor approaches. Azira appears in the doorway to the bedroom and freezes there, taking in Antonia’s state.

“Azira!” Antonia cries, trying to read her body language. She can’t tell if Azira is happy to see her.

Azira rushes to her side and scoops her into her arms. It feels like her hands are everywhere; on her hips, her back, her sides, her face. Azira peppers kisses all over her face and hair. “Antonia, mon amour, please forgive me. The fault was all mine- I know everything now. My father told me what he made you do. I felt like I was dying away from you.”

Antonia closes her eyes, focusing on keeping calm. “I felt the same, but it’s proof grief can’t kill because you’ve found me alive.” 

Azira slides under the covers, helping Antonia adjust until she’s in her lap and laying back against her chest. “Nothing will be able to take you from my arms now, not man, nor demon, or angel.” She smooths the hair back from Antonia’s face. “We’ll escape Paris and live in the country again. We’ll make up for our heartache, and your health will come back again. You’re the light of my life and the future will shine upon us.”

Antonia is lulled into the daydream by the steady beat of Azira’s heart. “We’ll leave Paris,” Antonia echos. They can do this. They can be happy together finally. Her illness doesn’t have to stop them. Now that Azira is back she can fight it. She pushes herself up from Azira. “Azira, please, let’s go to the church.” She stands, fighting her wobbling legs. 

“You’re so pale-” Azira gasps, but Antonia cuts her off.

Antonia sways, grasping her chest. “-It’s nothing! I’m just overjoyed.”

Her legs give out from under her and Azira jumps to her feet, catching her heavily. “Mon Dieu! Antonia!” Azira holds her weight completely and Antonia’s head tips forward limply against her chest.

Antonia takes a ragged breath. She breathes but she’s not getting any air. Her illness’ end feels near. This can’t be how she ends. This can’t be it. She just got her love back. The air around her feels thick and humid though it’s the beginning of January. 

Antonia’s voice comes out like a wisp of her former self, “It’s only my illness, just a moment of weakness. I’m better now. See I’m smiling.” She attempts a smile, but it falls only a second later. “Marceline, get my dress.” She motions towards the dress hanging on the door. 

“Now? Wait!” Azira tries to lower Antonia back to the bed, but she struggles and breaks free of Azira’s arms. 

“No! I want to go out.” Overcome by the manic fervor of her creeping reality, she rushes to the dress herself. She manages to pull it down from the hanger, letting the weight of the material and gravity do most of the work, but the material is too heavy for her to hoist over her head, and she doesn’t have the balance to step into it. “I cannot!” Antonia breaks down sobbing. 

Azira collects her back into her arms, letting the dress fall to the floor in a heap. “Marceline, call the doctor!” 

Marceline rushes out of the room to send word.

Antonia cries into Azira’s arms, still standing for the moment. In between her gasps she calls out to Marceline hoping she’ll hear her, “Tell the doctor that Azira has come back to her love. Tell him I want to live again!” She slides out of Azira’s arms, sinking to her knees not unlike the dress next to them. “If your return has not saved my life, then nothing on Earth can save me!”

Azira holds her in her arms, letting her scream. 

“To die now, when I might have at last stopped my weeping!” It’s Antonia’s turn to rage. Her fingernails bite into the center of her palms as she squeezes her fists shut. “I kept my love alive in vain!” She smacks the floor with her fists and throws back her head, letting out a scream that would break the hearts of anyone who heard. 

Azira tries to reassure her, a look of abject terror on her face. “My breath of life, my pulse, you must stay calm! My tears flow with your’s, but we must now more than ever keep heart.” 

Antonia looks up and sees that Azira is indeed also crying. However, her words do nothing to steady her heart. She’s losing control. Her chest heaves with each cry. If her lungs were healed she would be hyperventilating by now. 

“My Antonia, be calm! Your grief is killing me! Please, be calm!” Azira’s own panic increases. She wraps her arms tighter around Antonia, hugging her with enough pressure to ground her.

Antonia calms after a few moments and Azira picks her up and carries her back to her bed. With her hair splayed out around her like a halo, she looks like a tragic painting. Her tears have left trails that glitter against her sickly skin in the dusky light. The doctor comes in, without his bag, followed by Marceline. Antonia smiles up at him. “See? I’m dying in the arms of the only dear one I have.” 

The doctor shushes her and takes a handkerchief from Marceline, dabbing at her forehead. He passes it off to Azira, who wipes at her salty chest and cleans the blood from around her mouth. The doctor instructs Marceline to do something, and reprimands Antonia, probably for leaving the bed, but she isn’t listening anymore. Antonia leans over to her bedside table and pulls out a locket.

“Take my portrait of days gone by.” Antonia holds it out to Azira. “Let it remind you of the woman who loved you.”

Azira’s eyes flash and she pushes Antonia’s hand away. “No! You must live my darling!” 

Antonia gasps and coughs up blood, splattering all over the sheets and her nightgown. Her lungs ache and burn, but she must survive the hellfire before she’s granted the peace she so desires. 

“Please... “ Antonia doesn’t catch her breath this time, instead taking in small gasps of air. “...take it.” 

Azira’s hand closes around Antonia’s slipping the locket into her hand. 

“Remember me when I’m among the spirits.” Antonia relaxes into the pillow, closing her eyes.

If only she had more time with Azira, but there isn’t anymore time. The clock has struck midnight and it’s time for her to go to bed. 

“Please, God, don’t take her from me!” Azira leans forward and sobs into Antonia’s lap. 

Marceline carefully places her hand on Azira’s shoulder. “God calls her to her side.”

“Please live…” Azira begs Antonia taking both her hands in her own, “or a single casket will return both you and me to the soil of our Earth.” 

As if through some magic, or a miracle, perhaps from love itself, Antonia sits up. “My palms! The spasms have ceased!” She holds her arms out in front of her, amazed at the improvement. “My energy! My life is back!” Antonia gets to her knees on the bed. “We can get married, Azira!” 

The doctor glances to Azira, who is looking at him apprehensively. A single shake of his head is all she needs to know. Azira climbs onto the bed next to Antonia and wraps her arms around her love. Antonia takes one final deep breath and slumps back in Azira’s arms. 

The room is silent save for the singing of Parisians outside.

_ Make way for the quadruped Queen of the festival, _

_ Wearing her crown of flowers _

_ and vine leaves. _

_ Make way for the tamest of all _

_ who wear horns, _

_ greet her with music of harp and flute. _

_ People of Paris, _

_ open the path to the heroic Queen. _

_ Light-hearted maidens, and frolicking lads, _

_ pay her due honour _

_ of music and song! _

_ People of Paris, open the path _

_ to the triumphant Queen. _

_ Make way for the quadruped Queen of the festival _

_ wearing her crown of horns. _


End file.
